


The Inquisitor's Fear

by alistaircousland



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-10
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-30 23:23:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5183573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alistaircousland/pseuds/alistaircousland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One day, Inquisitor Lavellan went to the barracks and sparred with a soldier, then he fell unconscious. Cassandra, Dorian and Cullen were adamant in knowing why would Lavellan do such thing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Inquisitor's Fear

The Inquisitor was rarely seen hanging out in the barracks. Actually, he’s rarely seen anywhere other than the war room, meeting his advisors, his lover, or if you’re lucky, the tavern.

It’s not like he felt superior as the leader of an evergrowing military organization that’s keeping Thedas from falling to pieces. But Lavellan never really answered the question either. Cassandra and Leliana speculated that he’s just too caught up in his paperwork that he hardly goes out. Soals, on the other hand, said maybe Lavellan is just uncomfortable being around so much ‘ _shemlen_ ’. Either explanation makes sense, since Lavellan’s only time not talking about work is when he’s with Dorian. Even in the tavern, he’d ask about morale. He was also very wary of his human companions at first.

So yes, it was a huge surprise for the soldiers to see Inquisitor Artlion Lavellan in their barracks, dressed in simple tunic and breeches and with his hair let loose. It almost made him look like scavenger was it not for his clean hygiene state.

“Is there anyone ­who fights with an axe?” he asked. The soldiers didn’t move; didn’t even flinch. Their eyes are focused on Artlion whom just sighed heavily. “Don’t make me repeat my words.”

“Ser, aye, ser!” One soldier—a tall woman with raggedly cut red hair and deep Fereldan accent—stood up.

“By axe, I mean greataxe.” Artlion corrected.

“Aye, ser.” The soldier said again.

“Great. Follow me to the training field.” The Inquisitor said before exiting the barracks.

(x)

“What’s your name, soldier?” Artlion asked as he grabbed a training bow and some wooden arrows.

“Sheila, ser.” The soldier—Sheila—replied as she took a wooden greataxe from the weapon display.

“You don’t have to put ‘Ser’ after every word, Sheila.” Artlion chuckled as he weighed the bow in his hand.

“Alright, ser—I mean, Inquisitor.” Sheila said a little awkwardly, which made Artlion chuckle again.

“Now, would you mind to spar with me?” Artlion already pulled an arrow against the bow’s string. “You can pretend I’m a marksman, or something.”

“But, ser—I mean Inquisitor—I cannot—“ Sheila tried to object, but Artlion was faster.

“Just pretend I’m a Venatori marksman or something, soldier.”

And with that, Artlion shot an arrow to Sheila’s shoulder blades. Then another, to her chestplate.

If anything, that was enough to trigger Sheila into fighting.

(x)

“Amatus!”

“Inquisitor!”

“Lavellan!”

A pair of light blue eyes blinked to life, and the owner of the eyes groaned loudly. “Don’t shout. It hurts.”

“How dare you make the Inquisitor fall! On his head, even!” Cullen diverted his attention to Sheila, who kept her head low, looking guilty at what happened.

“Commander,” Artlion said, a little rough, “it’s okay. I asked her to spar with me,” he explained as he tried to sit; both Cassandra and Dorian helped the elf up, then Dorian applied a basic healing magic to Artlion’s head.

“Thank you, vhenan.” Artlion whispered. “It’s alright. I asked the soldier to give her best.”

“Inquisitor, are you sure?” Cullen asked.

“ _I. asked. her,_ Cullen. Stop it.” Lavellan barked as he stumbled to stand, his nostril flaring in anger.

“Sheila,” Artlion addressed the still stunned woman and offered his hand to shake, “your techniques are really good. Some are rough, but I find that very effective should you meet any Beyond-like creatures.”

“I—ser—I mean, Inquisitor—I…,” Sheila blabbered awkwardly, “thank you. It was an honor to spar with you.” She shook Artlion’s hand and a genuine smile crept up on both faces.

The Inquisitor gave everyone a nod and ran up to the towers, presumably going up to his quarters.

“Do you know what caused his sudden wish to fight, Dorian?” Cullen asked.

“I’m afraid I don’t. He… doesn’t really speak of his emotional state. Not even to me,” the Tevinter mage sighed.

“Hunting. Failing. Fighting. Demons! Arin, stay alive!” The familiar hushed voice—Cole—crept up behind the crowd, then continued, “Creators, let Arin live. Let Arin live. Arin!”

“Arin?” Cassandra raised an eyebrow at Dorian.

“My dear Seeker, again, I must say I don’t know.” Dorian sighed. “I think you and I both know that he would share more to you than I. You are, after all, the next person he trusts other than Solas and I.”

“But if anyone is to dig up, it’s you, Dorian.” Cassandra glared. “I’m not the one he sought out every night.”

“You almost were, Seeker.”

“You are the one he wanted, Tevinter. Make it to good use.”

(x)

Dorian doesn’t like being told to run errands—especially from someone who was really close to steal Artlion’s attention before he came along—but he was deeply curious himself on why would Artlion ask someone else outside from his inner circle to spar with him, and didn’t fight back as much as he would if he were to spar with anyone else.

“Amatus?” he called as he went up the stairs to the Inquisitor’s private chamber. He was met with his lover relaxing on his bed, with a parchment on his lap and a quill on his hand; so focused that he did not realize Dorian’s presence.

“Amatus.” Dorian repeated, this time louder, that Artlion was staggered and threw a knife at Dorian’s general direction.

“Dorian! You scared me.” Artlion said a little breathlessly as he put away his writing equipments. “I’m sorry, that nearly got you killed. What’s wrong?”

“You are forgiven by your charming look alone, amatus.” Dorian snickered and placed a kiss on the elf’s lips. “But shouldn’t your ears hear me coming in from miles away?”

“I was… distracted.” Artlion nudged at the lying parchment on the floor. “What do you need, vhenan?” He asked, wrapping his arms around Dorian’s neck.

And as much as Dorian like where this would head to, his curiosity would grew even bigger, so he had to keep his primal needs away for the sake of curing it.

“Artlion, I… want to ask something.” Dorian pushed Artlion back to the huge bed behind him as he lay next to the confused elf.

“It was a surprise,” Dorian started, “for everyone, actually.”

“What? About us?” Artlion scrambled away from Dorian’s hold, his walls starting to build again. “You know, it was you who were afraid to be hurt if we got this far. But if you finally feel like riding the Bull, it’s alright.” He snapped.

The Altus mage was shocked of Artlion’s accusation, and almost barked back—it was a relief that he realized that it would actually end it all and he wouldn’t have the answer to his question.

“No, no! By the Maker, Artlion…,” Dorian sighed, “it’s not our relationship. I am very happy with how this has worked well for us, and how accepting everyone else about us.”

Dorian smiled a little when he saw the Inquisitor relax once again, closing the gap between them.

“But it’s about your sudden behavior this evening, actually.” The mage sighed when he felt Artlion tense in his arms. “We were… surprised to see you letting yourself fall. You did fight back, but not as much as you would if you were fighting someone else. Even myself.”

Then there was the awkward silence between the two lovers. Dorian cursed himself for pushing himself to ask; he didn’t thought it would be this difficult to fetch a reply from Lavellan. He was wrong.

Or he wasn’t.

“I’m the lead hunter of my clan.” Artlion started, almost inaudible, but he continued louder. “Let me rephrase that; I’m the co-lead hunter of my clan. I share the responsibility with my twin sister.

“Her name is Arin, and she’s my female mirror, I guess. We both grew our hair over our shoulder,” he played with his messy, shoulder-length blonde locks, “and we’re roughly the same height. Considering you’ve met Sera and Solas, that meant we were really tall for elves. If not for our obvious different sex, then the only thing that could differentiate us are our different choices in vallaslin. She has Mythal’s on her face, while I have Dirthamen’s.

“But anyway, since we were twins, we were raised so closely together that in our early days, without blatantly showing off our genitals—which we _don’t_ do, our hahren should stop talking about it—and I guess we have this special bond. I asked Sheila, the soldier to fight me because a greataxe was Arin’s choice of weapon, and I always spar with her. She’s the one who could stand my training arrows.

“Whether you believe this or not, I was actually the one who was given the greataxe whilst she was the one given the bow. We… didn’t take it well, and we would teach each other how to use the other’s weapon.

“When our Keeper knew about this, she was frustrated at first—we were the most promising fighters and we didn’t agree on her weapon choices—but then relented after we didn’t stop training each other, and we were switched.

“Soon after that, we got up to the point where we became the lead hunters for our clan, we actually fought and went into a cold war for the position. I would keep tracks of how much game I could bring back with my arrows and she’d boast about her killing animals and darkspawns amongst other things to keep our clan safe.

“Keeper Istimaethoriel was fed up with our childish fighting and decided that both of us were to lead together.”

Artlion took a deep breath and a pregnant silence before continuing, “When Keeper asked me to spy in the conclave, Arin fought the idea so hard that she was on the verge on being kicked out of the clan. She wanted to go with me. I understand her protective nature—I am the younger, after all—but I convinced her that I can take care of myself.

“She reluctantly let me leave, but threatened me that she would hunt me in the Beyond if I were not to come back. But then the Inquisition happened, and with everything… I barely had the chance of keeping up with news of the clan.

“This morning I got a missive saying that my clan is being attacked by humans near the city they camped because the citizens caught a plague or something, and I just cannot help but wonder if Arin is safe or not. If anyone is still alive or not. The more time I spend on thinking about this, the bigger the chance for everyone to die.

“Before setting off to Haven, Arin told me to fight when I get to hard decisions. I laughed at the stupid advice, but I now am faced with different choices that gives me a fifty-fifty chance to safe my people. That’s my best bet, even.

“So… I wanted to fight someone that could have the similar taste of fighting like Arin. Sheila was none of that, she was too rough and brash, but it was a refreshing reminder that if anyone is to survive from the human slaughter, it’s her.”

Dorian was overwhelmed by the new information. Artlion rarely talked about himself—only about his clan coming from the Free Marches, and they were very friendly with humans—and this was a lot for him to take in.

“You mean…”

“I’m scared. I’m scared, Dorian. I cannot let my sister die. I cannot let anyone die. Yet I’m so far away from them. I cannot help them, not in person. Sending agents or soldiers aren’t good enough. I want to be there, to fight those bastard _shemlens_ with them, to keep them alive. I was honored by that responsibility before I went here. And now when they need me the most, I’m… not there.” Artlion was sobbing by the end of his story, which was another surprise for Dorian as he never, ever, saw his amatus cry. He was always happy or angry, but never… sad. Not like this.

The mage tightened his arms around the elf and carded his fingers through his lover’s hair, trying to keep them from falling apart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean this to happen.” Artlion said after a while, wiping the tears from his face. “Creators, you must be disgusted by the sight of me. A knife-ear, crying his ass off, after so much time looking so strong, when he’s actually so fucking vulnerable.”

“You can stop playing the strong card, amatus. It’s what I signed to when I decided to get fluffy and mushy with you.” Dorian kissed the top of Artlion’s head.

Artlion sighed and leaned into Dorian’s embrace. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I’m just not used to this feeling. Thank you, vhenan. But… I’d appreciate it if you don’t tell anyone about this. Say that I’m distracted or something.”

“Even the Seeker?” Dorian teased.

“…Fine, Cassandra and Solas can know. But not anyone else.” Cole and Leliana would find out eventually, but those four people he knew wouldn’t kiss and tell.

“And what about the parchment you were writing earlier?” Dorian felt wrong to peer into Artlion’s privacy, but he was curious.

“That was me deciding what do I have to do to with the Inquisition troop nearby my clan. I’m leaning towards sending agents or soldiers, but playing with Josephine’s connection could’ve work either. I… don’t know. I’m afraid I’ll make the wrong choice.”

Dorian cupped the elf’s face and kissed him softly, before murmuring against his face. “Make the decision you feel as the right choice. Your heart shouldn’t fail you, I believe.”

(x)

If seeing the Inquisitor in the barracks or sad were surprising, then the look of happiness and relief on his face was shocking. He _skipped_ around Skyhold as if there was nothing wrong in the world and greeted everyone in glee.

Even Cole didn’t understand the sudden change of the Inquisition’s leader emotion.

“What’s making you so jittery, Lavellan?” Cassandra asked as she cornered the elf in the battlements.

“Did you not hear from Leliana?” Artlion smiled widely. “My clan lives!” He punched the air triumphantly and kissed Cassandra’s cheek before skipping to another part of Skyhold.

When Cassandra told Dorian about it, the mage only smiled. Corypheus might still lurk in the darkness, but at least something is right amidst this war.

**Author's Note:**

> If anyone was confused why Cassandra and Dorian looked like they despise each other because of Lavellan or something similar, it's because I romanced Cassandra on my Lavellan before I romanced Dorian, and it's fun for me to write Cassandra and Dorian teasing each other about it.


End file.
